


Out of Hand

by Eva



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/pseuds/Eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could have been a knife!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Hand

Marcus drew his coat tighter around himself, grimacing at the wind. No reason for it to be this cold, he thought, hopping up the steps to Holmes’ brownstone. Before he could knock, the door opened and Joan Watson was dragging him in.

“Hurry!” she hissed at him, and darted out to look up and down the street before closing the door with a sigh. ”Sorry about that. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Oh, I, uh.” Marcus gestured to the door. ”I didn’t intend to stay, just wanted to drop that file off for Holmes—”

“You’ll want to stay,” Watson said, the smallest smile quirking her lips. ”And you’ll want coffee, because we are going to roof.”

“All right,” Marcus said, bemused, and followed her past what seemed to be wreckage, sidestepping a small turtle. ”Uh, your turtle—”

“Clyde knows the rules,” Watson said serenely, continuing on into the kitchen. ”I’m really sorry about this,” she added, pouring some coffee into a mug and handing it to him.

Marcus stared at the mug. ”Detectives Do It On the Down Low.”

Watson made a face. ”It’s the only one that’s washed.”

“Yeah, well, this file?” Marcus said, and Watson waved for him to leave it on the table, which was holding up probably three days worth of take-out trash. ”I don’t know—”

“Believe me, that’s the safest place for it right now. Milk? Sugar?” Watson smiled when he shook his head. ”I won’t tell anyone, you realize. Still no? Come on, quick, to the roof. Unless you’re afraid of bees.”

“Bees?” Marcus repeated, but followed. How could he not? He liked Watson; she usually seemed to have her head screwed on right, and watching her in her element—in Holmes’ element—was oddly like watching a ballet dancer move through a subway train.

“Sherlock keeps bees,” Watson explained breezily, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as they ascended into the cold night air. ”They’re over there, but we’re going over here.”

“We’re looking at the sidewalk?”

“Wait for it,” Watson instructed, grabbing something from a box she’d obviously prepared earlier. Her mug was sitting on the low roof wall.

“Seriously, I just meant to leave the file,” Marcus said, and she held up her hand imperiously.

“Shh! There he is.”

And there he was. Holmes hopped out of a cab and started up to the brownstone, rubbing his hands together briskly. Watson leaned over the edge of the roof, holding something out—a water balloon, Marcus realized, just before she dropped it.

There was no time even to warn him. The balloon fell and landed square on Holmes’ head, making Marcus give a strangled sound of surprise and laughter. Holmes looked up, huge-eyed, as Watson yelled down, “Could have been a knife!”


End file.
